


I'll Be Home (For Christmas)

by TheStrange_One



Series: 12 Days of Christmas [8]
Category: Deadpool - All Media Types, Spider-Man - All Media Types
Genre: Doubles, Future, Implied/Referenced Suicide, M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-12-19
Updated: 2019-12-19
Packaged: 2021-02-24 17:02:04
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,064
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/21861391
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/TheStrange_One/pseuds/TheStrange_One
Summary: On the eighth day of Christmas my True Love gave to me:A doppelganger, a Santa replacement, a present failure, a postal run, a caroling, a blue snow, and a cute Spideypool Story.
Relationships: Peter Parker/Wade Wilson
Series: 12 Days of Christmas [8]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/1568926
Comments: 12
Kudos: 46





	I'll Be Home (For Christmas)

**Author's Note:**

  * For [buterflypuss](https://archiveofourown.org/users/buterflypuss/gifts).



> So--nothing to do with this, but I thought it was interesting. My writing software recently updated and now every time I write "Pet" it tries to autofill "Petey-Pie."

Wade whistled happily as he skipped down the street, civilians getting out of his way. Today was a good day. Today would be the very last day that his sweetie Petey-Pie would ever have to hear the raised voice of his boss again. It was the perfect Christmas present!

“Stop right there, motherfucker!” swore a familiar voice behind him.

Wade stopped, turned, and faced—himself. “Well, blow me down and make me a Popsicle. Another me.”

“Yup.” The ‘p’ popped in the word as Deadpool faced Deadpool. “Exactly you. Which is how I know what you’re planning to do today.”

“Do tell.” Neither of them paid attention to the fact that the street was suddenly empty. It just meant the author didn’t want any extra casualties for this encounter.

“You’re planning to kill Baby boy’s boss today,” Deadpool 2 said. “And that, buddy-mine, is a very bad idea.”

Wade snorted. “Says you! You got any idea what that bastard’s been saying _to_ Petey-Pie _about_ Petey-Pie?”

“Oh, I know. And I agree that motherfucker should fucking die. But Petey won’t like it,” warned Deadpool 2. “You have no idea how much Petey won’t like it.”

“Oh, he might not like at first,” Wade said, completely aware of how much his Baby Boy hated killing. “But he’ll get over it the first week he’s not being yelled at for existing.”

“Yeah, that’s what I thought.” Deadpool 2 pulled out his katanas. “Looks like we’re just going to have to do this the hard way.”

Wade pulled his own katanas and narrowed his eyes. “I guess we will.”

“Fucking motherfucker tit asswipe,” grumbled Wade as he stumbled into the door, his newly regenerating arm not up to the task of helping him keep balance as he wrestled his key into the lock. “I’m ho-ome!” he caroled as he closed and locked the door behind him.

“In the living room!” Peter called out.

Wade limped (because, hot damn he fought dirty) towards the living room and gaped at the sight of Peter lying on the couch  holding a science textbook in one hand .  Peter was lying in an ugly Christmas sweater in purple and green with red letters that said, “ Don’t Want None Unless You Got BUNSEN.” His back was partially propped up, his sweater had ridden up exposing a tantalizing bit of skin between the sweater and his yoga pants, and his hair fluffed up around his head like the halo of an angel.

Peter looked at him and smiled in a vague, warm and fuzzy way. Wade felt his heart melt. He hadn’t realized how much he missed that expression. “Petey!” he cried as he flopped onto the couch, secure in the knowledge that his super strong boyfriend could handle the weight.

“Oof!” cried Peter with a laugh. “What happened? Wade, are you missing an arm?”

Wade’s little toddler arm waved at him. “It’s growing back.”

Peter reached out and cradled the back of Wade’s head. “Yeah,” he said, “but we both know you’re in pain.” He pressed a chaste kiss to Wade’s cheek. “What monster of the week did it this time?” He shifted so that Wade had room on the deep couch (seriously deep enough for a bed, Wade had insisted) to lie next to him.  He rested his head on Peter’s shoulder and sighed as Peter shifted enough to be holding him.

“Just the biggest monster of them all, Petey,” he said wearily. “Myself.”

“Oh, Wade.” Peter gently stroked the sides of Wade’s face through the mask. “You’re not a monster.”

Wade gave a low, broken laugh. “Oh, you don’t even know!” he said bitterly.

And he wouldn't. That’s what Wade had fought for. Peter would never know what had happened, what Wade had almost put him through.

_Wade stared at the broken body before him. Shaking he scooped it up and looked at the strangely peaceful look on Peter’s face—despite the puddle of blood he was lying in. “No, no, no!” he cried as he held the lifeless body close. “Petey,_ why _?”_

“ _You know why!” snarled a voice behind him. He turned to see Peter’s best friend, blond what’s-her-name. Tears were running down her cheeks too as she looked at the masked mercenary and the body in his arms. “_ You _drove him to this!”_

“ _No!” protested Wade. It couldn't be true. It couldn't. He’d done nothing except try to protect Peter, to love Peter. Why would she think it was his fault?_

“ _You drove him into a corner!” she screamed._

“ _No!” How? Surely he would have noticed?_

“ _Every time he complained about someone you killed them. He was terrified to talk. Terrified to talk to_ you _. And you acted like nothing was wrong!”_

“Wade!” The voice called as he was shaken. “Wade, wake up!”

Wade’s eyes sprang open and he saw Peter, leaning over him, concern written all over his face. “Peter?” he gasped.

Peter cupped his face and gave him a slow kiss. “It’s just a dream,” he said firmly as he plastered his body against Wade’s. “It’s okay—it’s just a dream.”

It wasn’t though. It was a memory. And he was so fucking glad he’d killed the him that would have hurt Peter so badly. He whined and pressed closer to Peter who didn’t shy away, who didn’t stiffen, who didn’t gasp. Peter just molded his body to Wade’s, pressing them together.

How could Wade not have noticed? Lying here, now, with Peter loving and responsive he could only think back to those last few months when Peter had gotten distant, quiet—as if he was trying to take up as little room as possible. He would have bathed the whole city in blood to keep his baby boy happy—but the only blood he’d needed to spill was his own.

“Hey, Pete,” Wade rasped after a moment, voice hoarse. “I want you to promise me something.”

“What?” asked Peter.

“If—if something is bothering you, even if it’s something I’m doing— _especially_ if it’s something I’m doing—you need to tell me.”

Peter pressed a gentle kiss to Wade’s temple. “You need to tell me, too,” he said softly.

Never. Never would Peter learn what almost happened—what road Wade had almost taken. “I love you,” he said instead.

“I love you too,” Peter said easily, with a smile that Wade could feel pressed into his skin.


End file.
